She could ride by a sort of instinct; she was part
of her horse.—Page 85.
But the Colonel knew what Maureen did not, that this golden time in his life was but an episode, that Maureen did not belong to him, and that soon—ah! too soon—the sweet presence and the voice like a bird's, and the lovely brown eyes, would leave Rathclaren and go back again to old Templemore, where Dominic and his father would be anxiously waiting for her.
While these things were happening at Rathclaren and Maureen by no effort at all on her part was making herself the idol of the entire establishment, the Rector—dear man!—was making leaps and bounds towards health. The feeling of health was in his veins, the keenness of health was in his eyes. Egypt had begun to save him, and Switzerland—selected parts, of course—did the rest of the business. He would certainly be able to return to his parish duties in the early summer, just when Templemore was in its prime, when the fat kine were prosperous, and the lean kine had disappeared for the present.
The Rector was by no means sorry to live. He had been content to die—God's will was his—and he never struggled against the inevitable; but now that earthly life was really restored to him in the most marvellous and unexpected way, he gave himself up to the enjoyment of it. His wife's will troubled him, however, not a little. At first, that is, immediately after her death, it troubled him profoundly, but then Maureen's severe illness caused every thought, except of her, to fade from his mind; but when she got better and the danger passed away, the Rector's conscience smote him very hard with regard to the will. He went to see Murphy at Kingsala, he went to see O'More and Walters, and he said the same thing to each and all,
"That will ought not to be acted on. My poor wife died through an accident. Had she lived she would have altered her will, for she told me so just before her death, poor dear. In fact, I was supposed to know nothing of this will, which was made just before our marriage, when she fancied she loved me; but she certainly told me most distinctly quite lately that all her money would belong to her own two daughters. Then she was killed—you know how. The will turned up. You had a copy, O'More, and we have heard from Debenham and Druce; but I cannot possibly see how we can act upon it—I mean as gentlemen and Christians. We take advantage of a terrible accident to destroy all my poor wife's hopes with regard to her girls."
Then Murphy said, "Now whist awhile, your Reverence, and I'll come and see you in a few days at Templemore. This requires thinking over. These aren't the days of chivalry, O'Brien, my man. Go home, rest quiet, be thankful the life of the little one is spared, and do nothing until you see me, for I'll come over to Templemore one fine morning, and have a bit of news for you as like as not."
The Rector waited with what patience he could, and the longer he waited the more sensitive did his conscience become. But at last, to his unbounded amazement, Dominic rushed in to inform him that an outside car was coming down the avenue, and there were four men on it, to say nothing of the driver; and when the four men stepped into the old house, which looked most sadly shabby without Maureen's care, the Rector found himself in the presence of Murphy the lawyer, of Mr. O'More, Mr. Walters, and of Mr. Debenham, head of the great firm of solicitors in Chancery Lane.
Now these men began at once to talk to the Rector, and they talked in a wonderfully convincing way. Their argument was this: First and foremost, the late Mrs. O'Brien had very much undervalued her property, which amounted not to fifty thousand pounds, but after all death duties had been paid would represent the very comfortable figure of between eighty and ninety thousand pounds. This money, by the lady's desire, had remained untouched since her second marriage, and the lawyers, Debenham and Druce, by wise investments had increased the original capital very much. How by the terms of the will this sum was to be divided in equal portions among Mrs. O'Brien's two daughters, the Misses Mostyn, the Rector's three children and his niece, Maureen O'Brien, and further, an equal share was to be given to the Rector himself.